


favorite jacket

by reptilianraven



Category: Let's Play Cyberpunk Red - Polygon (Web Series)
Genre: Dasha centric because god there is not enough content for my girl dapper dasha, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24911056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reptilianraven/pseuds/reptilianraven
Summary: “Dasha, this jacketlooks good,” Burger says and oh god, the bastard, he’s pulling his puppy eye. Singular, because his other eye is cybernetic and can’t look any cuter than an artificial orb, but his human eye sure is pulling out the big guns. “At least try it on?”“Okay, okay,” Dasha rolls her eyes, taking the jacket and slipping it on.“Ohhhhh shit,” Vang0 says, and huh.Dasha looks at herself in the mirror. The jacket is simple yet adds a bit of a rugged aura to her overall look. It’s warm and the inside has a nice smooth texture. And it haspockets.-A brief history of Dasha's green bomber jacket ft. friendship, patches, and shenanigans.
Relationships: Dapper Dasha & Vang0 Bang0 & Burger Chainz
Comments: 21
Kudos: 107





	favorite jacket

**Author's Note:**

> [this is based off of fanart i did myself (look, ya gotta be ur own number 1) of dasha having friend patches on her green bomber jacket. check it out here!!!!](https://actualbird.tumblr.com/post/621803623404519424/dapper-dasha-pls-look-at-her-jacket-patches)
> 
> content warning for mild violence!

The whole thing is stupid. It’s stupid to have a favorite jacket. But maybe Dasha is a bit of a stupid person.

It starts like this:

-

Dasha wasn’t supposed to buy the jacket. But Dasha wasn’t supposed to do a lot of things in her life, and ended up doing them anyway, so she’s starting to wonder if her life is following a theme of some sort.

All three of them are at a run down 24/7 fashion boutique downtown, investigating a break-in at the rival boutique. Dasha is at the counter, interrogating the cashier, P3nny, about her boss under the guise of the best smalltalk Dasha can muster herself to activate (it’s not very good, sue her). Burger and Vang0 explore the shop looking for clues and every time she hears a suspicious noise, she hopes to whatever god is listening that her two associates aren’t being the maximum amount of stupid they can achieve.

“Where was your boss, last Thursday night, if you don’t mind me asking?” Dasha asks sweetly, wincing internally at just how heavy handed she sounds.

“Y’know what?” P3nny hums, chewing her bottom lip as she thinks. “May-Belle left that night at around 8pm in a real hurry. It’s a bit odd, now that I think about it.”

“Wow, that does sound odd,” Dasha nods, putting her hand in her pocket and texting three exclamation points to Vang0 and Burger, their signal that they need to have a Family Meeting without actually blurting out the words “Family meeting” because she’s come to learn that that makes her look like a loser.

“Family meeting!” Dasha hears Burger say loudly, totally making her signal completely useless. She does not turn to Burger. If she does, she’s not going to be able to hold back her sigh.

“What?” P3nny turns her head to where Burger and Vang0 are looking through the clothes racks.

“Uh,” Vang0 says. Then he begins speaking very, very quickly. “Dasha, we found you a jacket and we think you’d look really good in it, you should try it on, in the dressing room, and we’ll all be there, in the dressing room with you, because we want to see how good you look in this jacket.” He takes a deep breath. Then, “Vang0 Bang0.”

Dasha can’t help it. She sighs, turning to face her Burger and Vang0. Vang0 is indeed holding up a green bomber jacket like it’s Simba the lion and Burger stands behind him, grinning easily, probably thinking that Vang0 did a totally good and not suspicious job of acting like a normal human being.

“P3nny, where are your dressing rooms?” Dasha asks her calmly.

“Uhhhh, towards the back of the store, to the left,” P3nny says, eyes darting at Vang0, Burger, Dasha, and the jacket. 

“Thank you, we’ll just be a moment,” Dasha says.

“Or longer,” Burger says helpfully. Vang0 elbows him in the gut.

They make their way to the dressing rooms, thankfully completely empty, and cram themselves into one stall. Burger and Vang0 tell Dasha that some of the fibers they found from around the store match the ones that were left on the broken glass of their employer’s window, so somebody who’s been at this boutique definitely had a hand in the break in. Dasha tells Vang0 and Burger that P3nny’s boss, May-Belle, disappeared into the night mysteriously and uncharacteristically on the night of the crime. All three of them start thinking about their next plan of action, when Burger goes, “Dasha.”

“Yeah, Burg?” Dasha looks at him. He’s holding the jacket now, handing it over to her.

“You have to buy this jacket,” he says.

“What? No I don’t. I can just say I tried it on, didn’t like it, and P3nny will be none the wiser.”

“Dasha, this jacket _looks good_ ,” Burger says and oh god, the bastard, he’s pulling his puppy eye. Singular, because his other eye is cybernetic and can’t look any cuter than an artificial orb, but his human eye sure is pulling out the big guns. “At least try it on?”

“Okay, okay,” Dasha rolls her eyes, taking the jacket and slipping it on.

“Ohhhhh shit,” Vang0 says, and huh.

Dasha looks at herself in the mirror. The jacket is simple yet adds a bit of a rugged aura to her overall look. It’s warm and the inside has a nice smooth texture. And it has _pockets_. 

“I totally picked that out randomly, but you have got to buy it,” Vang0 says. “If you look this cool and I stream and you’re there, people will think I’m cool too.”

“You look badass,” Burger raises up two thumbs ups.

“Fine,” Dasha says. “I’m buying it.”

Later, when the job is done, the mystery solved, and Dasha is unwinding alone in her apartment, Dasha peels the jacket off and lays it on her couch. She looks at it, briefly thinks about how she hadn’t meant to befriend Burger or Vang0, way back when. She comes to the conclusion that her life really is just like this.

Doing things she isn’t supposed to do, rolling with the punches, and coming out a little better.

-

Vang0 is starting a Patreon. 

He tells Dasha as much when he shows up at her apartment in the middle of the day with no warning.

“I’m starting a Patreon,” Vang0 says, pushing his way into Dasha’s apartment, rude as ever.

“With what following?” Dasha shoots back.

Vang0 ignores her as he starts pulling out thick fabrics from his bag and setting up on her coffee table. 

“I could kick you out,” Dasha asks. Being friends with Vang0, Dasha thinks, is much like being friends with a five foot six cat. Vang0 goes where he pleases, uncaring of what other people think, and settles into wherever he’s found himself. 

“But you won’t,” Vang0 doesn’t even look up from where he’s sketching circles onto the fabric with a marker. 

“But I won’t,” Dasha sighs. It just so happens that one of the places Vang0 has slithered his way into is Dasha’s stupid, ridiculous, idiotic heart. She’s not in the mood to get emo right now, so she gestures at whatever the fuck Vang0 is doing with cloth and asks. “What’s all this?”

“One of the tier rewards is an official VB patch.” Vang0’s tongue pokes out of his mouth as he continues drawing circles. Some of them look more like oblongs. “I’m here to borrow your sewing machine.”

“I don’t have a sewing machine,” Dasha lies.

Vang0 looks up and raises an eyebrow. “Yes you do. You alter your clothes yourself, I can tell.”

Addendum. Being friends with Vang0 is like being friends with a cat who’s way too smart for his own good. Dasha silently gets up to go fetch her portable sewing machine and decides not to comment on the sly smirk Vang0 is wearing as he draws more shitty fucking circles.

Thankfully, once Dasha sets the sewing machine down on the coffee table, Vang0, to his credit, isn’t too much of a bother. A busy Vang0 is a quiet one it seems, completely focused on his task. After he’s cut out his fabric blobs, he starts sewing, the buzz a comforting background as Dasha pretends to watch TV but actually is too fascinated by watching Vang0 work in the corner of her eye. He finishes one patch and throws it towards her.

“What?” Dasha picks up the patch. It’s pretty simple, just a blue circle with the letters VB embroidered onto it.

“That was the test patch, you can have it,” Vang0 says and—

Vang0 isn’t talking with his usual subtle IDGAF confidence. He’s fidgeting with the rings on his finger, looking away.

Being friends with Vang0 is like being friends with a cat. Sometimes he wants attention and affection but he has no idea how the fuck to ask for it.

The both of them make for a right duo, because Dasha sure as hell doesn’t know how to give it. So she just says what seems most natural.

“I’ll put it on the sleeve of my jacket,” Dasha says.

“The green bomber jacket?” Vang0 turns to her, looking a bit taken aback.

“Yeah,” she shrugs.

Vang0 ducks his head, probably so that Dasha can’t see him smile to himself. It’s not his “please make me famous” streamer smile, it’s his real one. It’s one that Dasha doesn’t get to see very often and it makes her chest surge with an odd kind of warmth.

“Keep making your stupid Patreon reward patches,” Dasha tells him. “I don’t want you to be working here all night, or else I really will kick you out.”

“Gotcha,” Vang0 gets started on another patch, still smiling.

She looks at the patch in her hand. It’s tacky as fuck, but if it makes Vang0 smile like that, it’s worth it.

-

Dasha wakes up and sees a white ceiling. She hears steady beeps, feels the cool air conditioning, and when she moves her arm, the IV line stuck to the back of her hand tugs faintly at her skin. Hospital, she thinks, and tries to think further back.

She remembers a job. Something about a suspicious hit and run from masked mercenaries. She remembers Vang0 tracking the culprits down to an abandoned warehouse. She remembers riding in Burger’s van, in the passenger seat, bickering with Burger to please play something that isn’t Carly Rae Jepsen, she doesn’t want to roll up to a mercenary headquarters while Cut To The Feeling is blasting on Keanu’s too good sound system. 

She remembers the fight like she remembers all the fights she’s been in; the blur of movement, the sting of wounds, the exhilaration of landing one hit, two, three. What’s different about this fight is the stab she took straight into her gut. The searing, deep pain blooming from her abdomen, the shouts from her teammates, from her _friends_. She remembers her knees hitting the concrete.

Then, nothing.

Then, now.

Hospital. She survived.

But what about Burger and Vang0?

She turns her head gingerly and lets out a sigh of relief. There, in the seat next to the bed, Burger sits, sleeping, his head craned at an uncomfortable angle. Her green bomber jacket is draped over him like a blanket. He’s got a few cuts on his face, but other from that, he looks fine. Thank god. Thank god.

Burger’s eyes flutter open.

“G’morning, sleeping beauty,” Dasha croaks, her voice a little rough.

“Dasha,” Burger sits up, more alert, setting her jacket aside. “How’re you feeling?”

“Invincible,” Dasha smiles crookedly. “Where’s Vang0?”

“He had first watch, but I sent him down to Keanu to take a nap.” Burger says. “He’s okay, by the way. Just a few flesh wounds.”

“Good,” Dasha feels the anxious buzz in her chest settle down. “Good.”

“Y’had us real worried, Dasha,” Burger puts his hand on top of hers. His hands are huge, but the gentlest in the world. 

“Takes more than a measly stab wound to kill me.” She holds Burger’s hand, her grip weak. She looks Burger in the eye, and Burger really wears his heart on his sleeve. He feels everything out in the open, so honestly, and Dasha can see, just by looking at him, how much this must have shaken him up. “Burg. I’m okay.”

“Y’lost a lot of blood,” Burger says, voice barely a whisper.

She uses all the strength she has to squeeze Burger’s hand. “I’m okay. I’m going to be okay.”

“Okay,” Burger says. Then, “I got you a get well soon gift.”

“Oh?” Dasha says, watching as Burger pulls something from from his pocket. He hands it to her, and with her non IV connected hand, she picks it up and she laughs.

It’s a patch. It’s a patch of a—

“Get it?” Burger smiles. “It’s a Burger. Because I’m Burger. And y’already have a Vang0 patch on your jacket so I thought maybe you’d like a Burger patch too, just so y’know, that, well. So y’know we’ve always got your back.”

Dasha isn’t like Burger. She’s uncomfortable with emotional vulnerability, she doesn’t like being soft, she keeps her heart under lock and key. But in this moment, she can’t help but smile. She can’t help but be honest.

“Thank you,” Dasha says. “I love it.”

“Excuse me,” A nurse pops her head into the room. She gestures at Burger. “Visiting hours are over. You’re going to have to go.”

“Alright, I’ll be out in a few,” Burger says, and the nurse nods and leaves. Burger takes Dasha’s jacket from where it was on the side and drapes it over her, on top of the hospital’s white sheets. “You should rest. Vang0 and I will be here again first thing in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Get well soon, Dasha,” Burger says.

“I will.”

Burger smiles at her softly one last time before going out the door of her room.

Exhaustion rolls through her body in a wave, and she feels herself falling back asleep. As her eyes slip shut, she holds her jacket close. Holds the stupid little burger patch in her palm like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

-

Recovery takes a while, after a few weeks with some good drugs and Hypo hooking her up with a really good tissue regeneration doctor, Dasha is back in the game with Burger and Vang0, kicking ass and taking names.

Then she gets kidnapped. 

Which is _so_ embarrassing.

She wakes up with a deep ache at the back of her head in a dingy closet of all places. With a quick check of her limbs, she finds that her hands are tied behind her back with rope, of all things. It’s 2045, who the fuck still uses rope, she thinks as she activates the nifty laser bracelet Vang0 made for her. She breaks through the rope in like ten seconds flat. Fuckin amateurs.

Then she notices her jacket is gone.

Her green bomber jacket she was wearing.

Her _favorite jacket_.

Oh, these motherfuckers are going down.

Dasha kicks the door of the closet down and enters the larger room. It’s a grey, dimly lit shithole with a bunch of crates lining the walls and a table in the center. Three men are seated around the table, playing cards, because Dasha’s life is a cheesy action movie.

The sound of the door crashing down has them all whipping their heads to them. 

“How the fuck did you get out?” Thug #1 says.

Dasha ignores him. She says, “Where is my jacket?”

Thug #1 charges towards her, fist ready to fly at her face, and Dasha bends down to dodge it. She kicks his legs out from under him and socks him straight in the jaw _hard_. He goes down like a pile of pathetic bricks.

“My jacket,” Dasha says to Thug #2, who pulls out a knife. Yawn, been there done that. “Green? Has two dumb patches on the sleeve? This ringing a bell for you guys?”

Thug #2 lunges, and Dasha grabs his wrist, knocking the knife out of his grasp. She knees him in the gut, and when he doubles over in pain, she grabs his head and knees him right in the face as well, feeling the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He falls to his knees before toppling over to the ground in a heap.

Dasha turns to Thug #3, who puts his hands up, looking at his two colleagues.

“I will ask one more time,” Dasha takes a step forward. Thug #3 takes a step back. “And if you don’t answer, I _will_ break all of your fingers one by one. Where. Is. My. Jacket?”

Thug #3 shakily points to a duffel bag on top of one of the crates.

“Thank you,” Dasha says sweetly. Then she punches him in the face.

He falls to the ground, knocked out along with the rest of his colleagues.

Dasha opens the duffel bag and sees her stupid favorite jacket with her stupid friend patches inside. 

The door of the room is kicked off its hinges. Burger and Vang0 charge into the room. Burger is holding a two by four plywood like a baseball bat and Vang0 has his shotgun cocked and ready. They look ready for battle, but then they look around at Dasha’s handiwork.

Vang0 whistles slowly.

“Bit late to the party, boys,” Dasha says as she pulls the jacket from the duffel bag and slips it back on.

“Sorry, we got stuck in traffic,” Burger says.

“These guys are amateurs, what’d they do to piss you off?” Vang0 nudges one of the thugs with his foot.

“They took my jacket,” Dasha says.

Both Burger and Vang0 are looking at her like they know what the jacket means to her, really means to her, but she isn’t in the mood to have a heart to heart right now. What she’s really in the mood for is—

Her stomach grumbles. Loudly.

Vang0 smirks. “Hungry, fearless leader?”

“Starving,” Dasha says. “Come on, let’s go to that old diner, I deserve a goddamn milkshake after getting kidnapped.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” Burger says, turning, nearly braining Dasha in the head with the two by four.

-

Later, in the diner, when they’re having a stupid argument over fries and what’s a better condiment to put on them—ketchup or ice cream, (Vang0 is aghast and says, “Ice cream is not a condiment, Burger!” “It is on fries,” Burger counters back easily)—Dasha looks around at her stupid friends. She looks at Burger, dumb of ass, heart of gold, and her best friend in the whole terrible world. She looks at Vang0, a snippy, sarcastic, over-intelligent cat of a man Dasha is starting to think of as a pseudo younger brother. She looks down to where she’s wearing a jacket they picked out for her, she looks to the stupid patches on her sleeve.

It’s stupid, to have a favorite jacket. But it’s also stupid to have friends she would die for, in a world that’s so cruel. 

Maybe Dasha is a little bit stupid then, in that regard.

She leans back, watches Burger and Vang0 bicker, and zips up her jacket to keep in the warmth. She thinks, yeah, it’s stupid. But she’s fine being stupid if it means getting to have moments like these.

**Author's Note:**

> im [actualbird](http://actualbird.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, come say hi!


End file.
